


What Do You Think He's Drawing?

by fmt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, Fluff, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-01 08:48:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 4,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8617504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmt/pseuds/fmt
Summary: Harry is intrigued by Draco's carefully hidden sketchbook during their Eighth Year at Hogwarts, and Draco...well, Draco is in denial.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All the character's are J.K.Rowling's, all the fluff is mine. <3

“What do you think he’s drawing?” Harry asked Ron, who was sitting on his right. Receiving no answer, Harry looked over at his friend, only to see drooping eyes and a thing strand of drool dangling from one side of his open mouth. Harry nudged him, rather forcefully, and repeated his question, glancing pointedly at the back of Draco Malfoy’s blond head. Malfoy was sitting on the desk in front of them with no desk partner but instead a large sketchbook in which he was carefully smudging something with the aid of a finger. As Harry watched Malfoy paused, tilted his head as if considering his work and gently sucked on his fingertip before bringing it down again to smudge another line.  
Harry swallowed.  
“I dunno” Ron whispered. “He looks into it though doesn’t he?”  
Harry, who had somehow forgotten what he had asked Ron in the few seconds he had been watching Malfoy, nodded and was soon lost again. In the graceful curve of Malfoy’s back and the rippling of muscles in his forearm as he moved his hand with care and confidence.  
The bell rang, pulling Harry out of his reverie. As if he had sensed Harry’s eyes on him, Malfoy turned as he put away his sketchbook, glancing almost carelessly at Harry and winked, before sweeping in front of the wave of students and leaving the classroom. And Harry was lost for the third time that hour.  
This time even the pull of the Great Hall and lunch couldn’t capture Harry, who murmured a quick excuse to Ron and Hermione before hurrying after Malfoy’s rapidly retreating figure in a desperate attempt to catch up. Harry was forced to duck and weave between students, even push a clump of First Years out of the way; barely aware of the swaying mass of tiny bodies he left behind him. In front of him, the gap only widened, as Malfoy’s long legs moved faster then should have been possible and showed no signs of slowing. Just like Malfoy really, Harry thought. It wasn’t as though – he just wanted to talk – he didn’t want to -  
His motivations weren’t important anyway, he told himself, pulling out a last burst of speed and at last reaching up with Malfoy as he reached the very end of the bloody History corridor.  
“Stop it!” Harry burst out, extending an arm to catch the Malfoy’s bag before he disappeared again.  
“Stop what, exactly?” Malfoy drawled lazily, no sign of exertion on his aristocratic features.  
“Being so infuriating?” Harry near shouted, hating the way his out of breath voice made it sound like a question.  
“Infuriating or interesting?” Malfoy asked, raising one perfect blond eyebrow to make some maddening point. “As I recall, you’ve never been particularly good at understanding the difference”.  
This time, Harry was helpless to stop him as he swept his bag out of reach and disappeared yet again.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to pay attention. It just that his paper was far more interesting than anything Binns could lecture on. And, to make matters worse, he had just gotten a brand new pack of charcoal and couldn’t stop himself from testing it out. These were a different hardness than the last pack he had bought, he thought, as he experimentally sketched a few lines and then a few more on a new page in his sketchbook. Different color too, more grey than black really. He sucked the tip of his finger for a minute and brought it down gently on a line, smudging it into further softness. Interesting. Deciding that anything Binns could lecture on would be useless anyway, Draco happily lost himself in his art, oblivious to the stares and whispers behind him.  
When the bell rang and class moved as one to collect their belongings, Draco was the first one out the door, pausing only to wink at Potter, more for the confusion factor than anything else (or so he told himself). Draco hurried down the corridor, determined to get to the lake before the late afternoon sun changed. He was vaguely aware that someone was rushing behind him, but really, if he didn’t get to the lake soon the light would be gone and he wouldn’t be able to test his new charcoal out on a proper landscape.  
He was caught by surprise when a hand caught on the strap of his bag. The body it was attached to almost when flying past him with sheer momentum. It was Potter, Draco noted, eyes not quite catching up to the rest of his mind. Potter, with a red face and flushed cheeks and a hint of – was that desperation? – in his eyes.  
“Stop it!”  
Draco was confused. He couldn’t stop. He had to get to the lake. Better shake Potter quickly then. He ignored the small voice in his mind telling him that this was more important.  
“Stop what, exactly?” Draco drawled, letting the old patina of scorn cover his tracks.  
“Being so infuriating?”  
The question in Draco’s eyebrow was genuine now, because surely Potter couldn’t mean…?  
“Infuriating or interesting?” Draco asked, sparking a glimpse out the window. Shite, the light was fading. He layered another veneer of distaste over his next words.  
“As I recall, you’ve never been particularly good at understanding the difference”  
He almost regretted it, as he tugged his bag out of Potter’s reached and whirled around the corner. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 coming soon!


	3. Chapter 3

Harry growled with frustration. He had been distracted all evening – he barely managed to cobble together a foot for Transfiguration before calling it quits. He sulked by the fire, staring at Malfoy’s dot with irritation. The slimy git couldn’t even stop to listen, not for one minute. Making up his mind, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from his bag and muttered a hasty excuse to Ron and Hermione, before sweeping out the Gryffindor Common Room.  
He made it all the way to the Kitchens before realizing, rather belatedly that this was probably the worst idea he had in quite some time. Just as he was about to turn around and leave, the portrait swung open, knocking and felling him to the ground in one smooth moment. Harry realized in the next that not only had the invisibility cloak come off him in the fall, it was Malfoy’s sodding face he was staring up into. Malfoy’s confused face. Charcoal-stained fingers offered him a hand up and without really knowing what he was doing, Harry had clambered to his feet and soon was staring into stormy grey eyes, almost exactly at his level.  
“I just, er…wanted to”, Harry stammered, any excuse failing him. He should have known better. Draco – Malfoy- looked confused, and cornered and really, what was he thinking?  
A loud noise startled both of them.  
Malfoy had dropped his sketchbook, which Harry hadn’t noticed earlier but must have been tucked under his arm the whole time. Malfoy leapt to pick it up, a slight flush staining his pale features.  
A single, loose page fell out as he did so, and Harry carefully snatched it up as well, grateful for the distraction. As he made to hand it back, Harry realized it was covered in eyes. His eyes. Some adorned with his round spectacles, some without, but all distinctively…his.  
“That’s mine, Potter”, Malfoy sneered.  
Harry wanted to respond, he really did but his voice didn’t seem to be caught up with his brain. Too entranced by the lifelike expressions captured in the curve of the eyelids, the curl of eyelashes – did his eyes really look like that? – Harry didn’t even realize that Malfoy had quickly pulled out his wand, slowly advancing towards him. Too shocked to respond, Harry soon found himself backed flush against the wall, hips on hips. Harry could feel every breath that rose in Draco’s chest, every warm exhale against his chin. He attempted to offer the page back to Malfoy, but his hand was trapped and currently loosely resting on, he realized with a shock, Malfoy’s upper abdomen.  
As if just realizing his position, Malfoy quickly flushed, snatched the page Harry held limply between them and before Harry had even begun to process the moment, fled, dropping his sketchbook in the process.  
“Wait!” Harry called out after the retreating figure. But it was futile. The other boy was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters are the property of J.K. Rowling

It was such a habit at this point, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Half the time he missed dinner entirely, so engrossed was he in capturing a leaf from the Forbidden Forest or a pumpkin from Hagrid’s patch. Draco would wander back into the castle as night fell, smelling of woods and the outdoors and Blaise or Pansy would cluck, unwinding his scarf from his neck and pushing him gently in the direction of the kitchens. The house elves were used to him at this point, as soon as they had realized that he was content to perch in the corner, out of the way, mind still full of whatever had struck his fancy that afternoon and a hot drink pressed into his hands. Tonight was no different. His afternoon interaction with Potter had left him distracted – each of his attempts that afternoon  
Somehow turned into a page of eyes. Potter’s eyes. He had ripped the page out in frustration and was on the verge of balling it up when something stopped him.  
Sighed and slid the page back into his sketchbook.  
Calling a gentle thank you to the elves, Draco hopped off the counter and quickly moved towards the door. He had stayed here too long to begin with – far longer than usual and while the rest of Slytherin House would certainly no longer care about his absence, Blaise and Pansy certainly would. So distracted was Draco by the list of potential excuses that ran through his head that he didn’t realize what had happened as he collided with what appeared at first to be air. As he looked down at the Potter sprawled inelegantly at his feet, he heaved a dramatic and long-suffering mental sigh. To have a cloak such as that…Draco offered the delinquent a hand up anyway, realizing with a slight murmur of embarrassment that his fingers were stained grey with charcoal. Potter didn’t seem to notice, or perhaps just didn’t care.  
“I just, er…wanted to”  
Draco was so startled by Potter’s voice he rather involuntarily let go of his sketchbook and it went crashing onto stone with a clatter. As he leapt to pick it up, the single loose page came sliding out and Draco cursed his indiscretion and then whatever had possessed him to draw those eyes in the first place. Those eyes which were now widening, with confusion and then recognition as they stared at the page. So desperate was he to get that page back, to somehow mitigate the damage, Draco didn’t even realize he had drawn his wand, backing Potter against the wall until they were pressed chest to chest, so close he was sure Potter could feel the pounding of his heart. It wasn’t until a finger twitched that Draco realized the exact position of Potter’s hand, as it rested, gently curled on his stomach.  
Draco could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He could never talk his way out of this one – he wasn’t sure that he would be capable of speech for several hours really, and why, why? did these things always happen to him?  
Snatching the page from Potter’s limp grip, Draco fled the scene, ignoring the surprised cry that echoed down the corridor.  
It wasn’t until he had arrived all the way at the Slytherin portrait hole, panting and out of breath that he realized the absence of his sketchbook.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to J.K.Rowling

It was taunting him. It sat in his schoolbag, too large to be innocuous. Slightly larger than the rest of his books, so he could see the spine whenever he looked down at his open bag. Malfoy’s name was stamped in gold lettering on the edge, as if there could be any doubt as to who it belonged too. Harry hadn’t looked in it last night, when he got back to his dormitory. As much as he had wanted to. He had sat, cross-legged on his bed, for longer than he would care to admit, the sketchbook in front of him. He had prodded it, yes, ran his fingers over the smooth leather cover, certainly, even tested it for curses. None had showed up, and still Harry didn’t open it. It felt like the utmost invasion of privacy, more intimate then when Harry had happened upon Malfoy in the bathroom in sixth year and with equally horrible consequences, he was sure.  
And now, the next day, he was in History of Magic again, distracted not by Malfoy, but by this thing, that sat so heavily in his bag. Malfoy was sitting in front of him yet again but this time sat still and straight, seemingly devoted to Binns’ lecture. The only sign of his agitation were the fingers that twitched, a pen spinning between thumb and index as if it longed to be pressed to parchment. He hadn’t turned around once, although Harry was sure he was aware of his presence.  
It was the longest hour Harry had ever spent in History of Magic.  
When the bell finally rang, Harry half expected Malfoy to speed away in a hurry again, as he had done ever since their return to Hogwarts. Instead, he turned to face Harry’s desk with a raised eyebrow and an expectant glare across his face.  
Harry nodded in understanding and gestured to the door with a cock of his head, ignoring Ron’s confused sputter next to him. Without waiting for Harry to follow, Malfoy swept out of the classroom just as he had the day before and down the hallway, pausing only once he reached the end of the corridor where Harry had accosted him yesterday.  
Harry looked up and down the hall, and spotting a trio of Ravenclaw girls, ducked into a secluded alcove. Malfoy followed with a raised eyebrow, but said nothing.  
Harry rather thought he should say something, but he didn’t want Malfoy to run away again and he was already looking a little too much like a deer in the headlights. He made to remove the book from his bag, to return it before temptation got the better of him, but a cold hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him in his tracks. Harry looked up in surprise.  
Malfoy was standing impossible close in the crowded alcove. Light streamed through a window across the way, highlighting his fine features and smoothing them somehow, making him look softer, more human. That human-ness was nowhere clearer than the slight frown in his eyes, the twist of his lips.  
Malfoy looked nervous.  
“Did you look in it?”  
He said it quietly, eyes still focused on Harry’s wrist, where his fingers were still wrapped. A dramatic contrast between tan and fair, light and dark. Harry shook his head frantically, wanting to impress on the other boy the intensity of that no.  
“I wouldn’t…ever, I mean, not unless you wanted me to! But you didn’t so…”, he trailed off lamely, words seemingly disappearing into the dusty sunlight.  
Malfoy seemed satisfied by this bumbling response, and let go of his grasp on Harry’s wrist.  
“It would have been fine you know. You could have. I wouldn’t have minded”  
Malfoy sounded amused again, the wry tone of his words belied by a smile in his voice.  
Rather emboldened by this response, Harry glanced down at the book still secured in his bag and then back up at Malfoy, who had still made no move towards it.  
Carefully, slowly, giving plenty of time for Malfoy to stop him, or for Peeves to interrupt, or for the floor to open and swallow him whole, Harry reached for the book in his bag and gently cradled it in his arms. He waited for just a few more agonizing seconds before flipping it open and then stood still, instantly overwhelmed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more y'all. How's it going? <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters are J.K.Rowling's.

Draco was spitting with anxiety. Bursting with it. It exploded out of him at every outlet, stemming like the roots of a tree from a tightness in his chest and spreading outwards, constricting, tightening, squeezing. Only the tips of his fingertips as they danced on the desk kept him grounded, present if not fully cognizant in the lecture. He had realized his mistake as soon as he reached the Slytherin common room the night before, but had been powerless to go back – Potter would be long gone anyway and curfew was quickly approaching. Draco had allowed himself instead to be pulled into a spirited argument between Blaise and Pansy, and it wasn’t until he had sloped off to bed that the loss had struck him.  
The thoughts that raced through his head as he lay in bed that night were hard to place. Fear, yes, that Potter would look through his sketchbook and laugh, perhaps show it to the other returning Gryffindors as they clustered by the fire. And maybe fear that Potter wouldn’t think him any good, that he would snort derisively, flip through the pages with scorn and contempt. And yes, maybe curiosity as well, for Draco had never shown his work to another before.  
Potter would be his first.  
All of this culminated in that tightly wound anxiety, the intensity of emotion that swept through Draco’s body as he waited for Binns to finish the lecture. When at long last the hour was over, Draco met Potter’s steady gaze with his own, attempting to quell the flurry of butterflies that had been released in his stomach.  
With Potter’s nod of acknowledgement, Draco hurried out of the classroom, knowing the other boy would be following behind. As they slowed at the end of the corridor, Potter caught him by surprise, ducking into an alcove Draco hadn’t even noticed was there.  
Draco rather thought that one of them should say something, but Potter was making no effort to do so, already reaching towards the bag that sat on his hip.  
Draco couldn’t stand it anymore.  
““Did you look in it?”  
The words burst out, quieter than he had meant as his throat constricted with nerves.  
He couldn’t look away from Potter’s wrist, where his own fingers, those traitorous digits had reached out involuntarily, wrapping around in a startling contrast of dark and light.  
“I wouldn’t…ever, I mean, not unless you wanted me to! But you didn’t so…”,  
Draco was swayed with relief, the fears of the night before set liberated by Potter’s words.  
So relieved was he to know there had been no laughing in the common room, no pointing and mocking in disgust, the next words he spoke barely registered in his brain before spilling from his mouth.  
“It would have been fine you know. You could have. I wouldn’t have minded”  
Plainly startled by this response, Potter glanced down at his bag, then back up at Draco, the question clear in his eyes.  
Draco stood frozen, but made no move to stop Potter. Instead he held his breath, knuckles white on his clenched fists as the pages of the sketchbook fell open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter...the big reveal!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to J.K Rowling

The world slowed to a stop. Page after page turned, his fingers moving without his command. Every leaf knocked the breath out of him. Harry could feel his heartbeat slow, stretched out like molasses, and then speed up again, erratic and unbalanced.  
Still objects first a stack of books or a candle dripping wax, arresting in their detail. Landscapes next, with delicate lines and strong shapes. Proud arches and diminutive curves lending themselves to an unearthly accuracy. A figure here or there, the point of a foot or the tendons of a hand.  
Artistically perfect but lacking the gravity of emotion. All of it left him wanting, deprived in some way. Until…  
There.  
This time he was sure his heart had stopped. Because it was him. It was HIM. His face, in parts at first. His chin, covered in a hint of stubble. His nose, his lips.  
And his eyes, more than Harry had glimpsed on just that one page. Page after page of his eyes, more brilliant and lifelike than Harry could have imagined, more depth than he would have thought possible. More depth than he thought he contained. Boundless caverns and dizzying heights of passion and excitement, of rage and fury, his expression manic one page and subdued the next. Emotions that Harry was sure he hadn’t felt in months, not since the final battle had wiped his mind clean, since his heart had shut down, healing in an emotional coma of his own creation.  
But he felt them now.  
The tears he hadn’t cried at Fred’s funeral. The joy that had been restrained when Teddy took his first steps. The pride and the jealously and the love as Ron and Hermione found each other. All of it was here, sketched out on page for all the world to see.  
Except it wasn’t the world. It was Malfoy, the boy he had watched more closely than any other, the fire of obsession stoked by years of antagonism. The person who had apparently watched him back. Who could feel the things he didn’t even know he felt and pour them out on page, as if pouring Harry a new soul.  
He looked up to see Malfoy, trembling almost imperceptibly in front of him, eyes still focused on the last page Harry had turned to.  
“Draco”.  
The name fell from Harry’s lips, unbidden, uninvited. He couldn’t stop himself from moving closer, until he was almost pressed flush against him, the sketchbook between them once again.  
“Well? What do you think?” Draco’s voice had that too-harsh quality, as if h had to force the words out to make them intelligible, but his eyes were shining fiercely when Harry looked up. He was still trembling, but now Harry could feel it, in the planes of his arm, in his legs.  
Gathering every ounce of that Gryffindor courage, Harry leaned forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay I lied just a little bit more y'all


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to J.K. Rowling!

Draco’s world slowed to a stop. It seemed as though time had frozen. Potter was flipping through the sketchbook with agonizing slowness, pausing every few pages for a closer look. First the objects, then the landscapes, and then…him. Harry. For Draco had been watching him for far longer than he cared to admit. Draco tore his eyes away from Potter’s hands turning pages reverently to focus on his face, unreadable on the surface but bubbling with something else beneath. Draco had long since trained him to see those subterranean aches, to ferret out Potter’s true emotions. He never gave away much it was true, but Draco had waited and watched and always saw the tightening of a shoulder or the twitch of a lip that expressed a whole range of feelings.   
He had watched and waited, and now he did the same, watching Potter as he flipped through months of work and waiting for a verdict.   
The one he received wasn’t what he was expecting. Draco let out a small exhale of breath, too faint, he thought for Potter to hear, as Potter turned to a particularly intense sketch of his lips, his chin, his neck. The other boy looked up anyway, eyes wide and open.  
“Draco”.   
Draco was so focused on processing that word – his name? yet surely Potter had never spoken it before, had certainly never said it like that before? To notice him moving closer, pressing flush against him, the sketchbook between them once again. Draco hadn’t even known he was trembling until now, but here he was. Shaking like a leaf, his legs against Potter’s, chest nearly touching chase, only the rectangle of hard leather separating them, held up by their bodies.   
“Well? What do you think?” Draco forced himself to say. He could have stunned himself the minute the words escaped his lips. The words had come out too harsh, roughened by the sheer effort it took to speak. He attempted to soften them with his eyes, to show Harry – Potter? – Harry, that he hadn’t meant it, that he didn’t mean to, but…  
Just a little bit more, Draco thought, rather hysterically, and he would be close enough to…  
Harry leaned forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All characters belong to J.K. Rowling!

They were close enough now that their foreheads were touching, gently bumping against each other. If Harry focused, he knew he would see Draco’s wide silvery, eyes, but he didn’t want to look, he couldn’t.  
So he kissed him instead. 

And soon it was that little bit more. They were close enough now that their foreheads were touching, Harry’s knocking against his. Draco had moved on from hysteria to desperation, an entirely different dragon, and its fire bloomed in his chest, radiating heat up to his neck, his cheeks. And then…  
Draco felt lips press against his own and the dragon took off in flight. 

Their two worlds collided. Two realities combined into one, two existences trapped in the same realm, two planets circling the same sun, pulled into one another’s orbit. Harry sighed into the press of slightly chapped lips against his own, warm and reassuring and dizzying all at once. Draco’s lips didn’t move at first, just radiated that warmth and sweetness, a small huff of breath escaping and brushing against his own. Harry began to worry that this wasn’t right, that he had done everything all wrong, but then…  
But then they did move, Draco’s mouth opening and his teeth moving forward to gently nip Harry’s bottom lip. Draco’s tongue darted forward with a skill he hadn’t even known he possessed. He moved with Harry, melted into him, as the kiss deepened.  
Harry was soon overcome by the sensations that gripped him. The touch, the smell of Draco; the arm that had wound around his waist; the sheer intensity of it, of Draco. Of Draco.  
Harry broke away from the kiss to look into Draco’s eyes, to see what he couldn’t see before. He knew that on the surface level, things had already changed. It was already different between the two of them, and perhaps it had been for a long time. But could this change everything? Could it change the fundamentals of who they were, of everything they had done, for and against each other?  
Somewhere in the back of his mind, that fragile and slightly shattered entity, Harry heard a disjointed voice.  
“It only takes in that which makes it stronger”  
He would do just that, he decided. This would make him stronger. Oh, but surely he wasn’t comparing Draco to the basilisk venom that had strengthened the Sword of Gryffindor? Because that Basilisk has been truly scary, to say nothing of Tom Riddle…  
Harry stopped thinking as Draco’s lips found his own, and this time it was his own arm that snaked around Draco’s waist, his own hands that splayed across Draco’s hips.  
Draco sighed in content. All that emotion he had attempted endlessly capture on page, the embers that shifted in Harry’s bright eyes, all of it was here and all of it was now. He didn’t need to draw it to make certain.  
It was right here in front of him.  
Two worlds collided. And one heart was made whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So....what did everyone think? <3


End file.
